Promise Me No Promises
by Hungryeater
Summary: "John, stop giving your life to the FBI because you made the wrong call last time." "It's not that I don't want this kind of life with you Mickie… That's just it. I shouldn't want this life… Especially when he's still out there." An FBI agent in Richmond, Virginia? It's not like serial killers run amuck among the horses.
1. Relocation

I know, I know. I shouldn't be writing another new fic… but I couldn't help myself. It's got nothing to do with wrestling but please read anyways. Thanks. Always thought a non-wrestling fic between these two would be fun, but this is a bit darker than my usual stuff. Still trying to get around to the other fics. After all these years, I finally got to see a real live WWE event in June. No Cena, but it was still fun. Let's go Cena!

Also, I know this was a while ago but still… The week after the proposal at Wrestlemania, during Superstar Shakeup, did anyone else find it weird that Mickie got moved to Raw? I didn't really mind but still a bit odd. C'mon, she already got the ring, how was Nikki still insecure? Still want to see a match between those women, though.

I own nothing except the words on the page. Please read and review. Thanks

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 **Promise Me No Promises**

" _We cannot let our respect for the FBI blind us from the fact the FBI has sometimes come up short of our expectations." – Orrin Hatch_

" _John, stop giving your life to the FBI because you made the wrong call last time."_

" _It's not that I don't want this kind of life with you Mickie… That's just it. I shouldn't want this life… Especially when he's still out there."_

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 **Chapter 1: Relocation**

 _Richmond, Virginia._

Crimson, like wine in the lipstick stained glass beside the lifeless blonde. Not the cheap stuff by the smell of it. The fluid continues to run along and flow in all directions, seeping into the maze of cracks of creaky, disjointed floorboards.

He loves the thrill, the temptation; the moment of ecstasy, the moment of nothing but pure **power.**

He revels in it. He has a desire only idle hands know and that only creative hands can control, fulfill. He was the master of terror in the theatre of deception.

Leaving behind a trail of mayhem, fear as he is the nightmare of the night. Bullets and blood disengage and dart into fabric and flesh, inflicting pain, punishment… pleasure.

Damn.

He knows he's too good. Is he sick? _Probably_. Maybe. More like passionate or genius.

Like his drunk daddy did, he pours a glass of Chivas Regal – swirls it, smells it, and raises it. He salutes to no one in particular, while the silence that soothes him. His index finger taps against the rim before his smirking lips sip long, slow… savoring its smoothness. As he does this, the ice cubes clink against the crystal tumbler.

* * *

 **In another part of town…**

 _Richmond, Virginia._

Home of the Founding Fathers, a bunch of horse stables and…

The new home of John Cena.

Yup, Boston native John Cena is now calling Virginia home.

Technically, he's been to Virginia, having trained in Quantico before graduating and being assigned to the FBI Field office in Boston as a Behavioral Analysis Unit profiler. But still…

Anyways, as John gets out of his black SUV and looks at the quaint house in front of him that he now calls home, he receives a text from his boss Vince outlining the current case. The text ends with a dire warning for John not to fuck up the case. That was not an option for Agent Cena.

As a 28 year-old, 6"1', blue-eyed, muscular guy and decorated FBI agent in Boston, it's surprising for John to be assigned to Richmond, Virginia. He knows why he's here but he just doesn't get why this location… It's not like serial killers run amuck among the horses.

However, the briefing prior to the move cleared all hesitation in John. Whether he had a team or not, John had to take this assignment…

It was… _personal._

After walking through and exploring his new fully furnished place, John was pleased to find a 12-pack of Budweiser waiting for him. John took a pull of his beer, the cool amber liquid soothing his dry and scratchy throat.

His fingers traced the outline of his badge: **SSA Agent John Felix Anthony Cena of the FBI**.

 _Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity._

Words that meant more to him than the average agent. Along with the words: _Hustle, Loyalty, Respect._

Especially now.

John was a selfish, reckless bastard. He knew that about himself. Probably wouldn't change either. He's done a lot of really bad things.

But the FBI saved his life and ever since, he's been trying to pay it forward.

Yes, there are days that don't turn out well, but when he sees the smiles of those he had saved over the years… Well, he hasn't seen those days in a while. John felt shattered, isolated, and alone, rather than rewarded for his actions. In a way, this case was more than just righting a past wrong, but also a time for self-reflection. Only, he didn't know that at the time.

The next day, John ventured out into the community and managed to get lost among some tall grass.

"Hey! What are you doing here? This is private property."

John turned towards the source of the feminine voice.

Accompanied by a big, white horse loudly neighing, stood a petite woman, probably a foot shorter than John. With a bunch of carrots in one hand and the other on her hip, she repeats herself.

John was speechless.

He kept staring at the beautiful woman in front of him. _Real subtle, man_. Her brunette hair was in a simple ponytail and she wore a purple tee and jeans, with some knee high brown boots.

"Sorry got lost. I'm John." John holds out his hand, hopeful she'll shake it.

She doesn't. And the horse beside her snorts.

"I'm Mickie. Well John, keep getting lost… just not on this property."

John laughs at her remark. She's feisty. He kinda likes it. John could only look at her, intrigued. Just because she wasn't flirting with him, that didn't mean he couldn't start. But then he remembered the number one rule on assignment.

 _Don't get attached._

Oh, how he wished he listened. It could've spared them all the pain (emotional and physical) down the road. As mentioned earlier, John was a selfish bastard and that wasn't going to change.

He just couldn't help himself.

She may not have known it yet, but Mickie couldn't either.


	2. Home Is Where the Heart Is

_Man… it's been awhile… again. I don't know when I'm updating next, it's just been a random surprise. Since my last update, life still moving on. I did go to Wrestlemania 34 though! New Orleans is amazing!_

 _All of this John and Nikki BS drama… just ugh! I'm just so over it… I don't really care either way what happens to them. I could continue on this rant but I won't. PM me if you want to really hear my opinion on them. I still love John and Mickie together… could you imagine if they had stayed together…? As well, does any know if Nikki and Mickie ever had a one on one match against each other? Message to WWE Creative: give Mickie another title shot; stop having her job and be Alexa's mom!_

 _I only own the mistakes in this fic. Please read and review!_

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 **Chapter 2: Home Is Where the Heart Is**

Mickie James woke up this morning to her usual routine: a cup of coffee with a leftover slice of pecan pie and the daily newspaper. _Yes, she still reads the newspaper… call her old-fashioned._ Unfortunately, the front page headlines for this whole week have been tied to cruel murders that could be the work of a serial killer running amuck in Virginia.

Mickie didn't want to believe it. She lived her whole life on her parent's property here in Richmond. As an only child to aristocratic yet humble parents, Mickie eventually inherited the family ranch and turned the acres of land (all 15 of it) into a sprawling horse sanctuary. For all her years living on the ranch, Mickie just couldn't believe an individual as sadistic, methodical, and skilled as the news reports suggest would go on a killing spree in her hometown. To Mickie, you shouldn't believe everything you read in the paper… despite how charming the journalist writing the report appears to be.

After skimming through the rest of the newspaper, Mickie heads out to the stables. There are currently six abused, neglected, and malnourished horses in need of care at her sanctuary. Some were voluntarily brought in and others found abandoned in fields of grass. Mickie felt a sense of duty to care for these horses as she grew up horse-back riding. Until a back injury forced her to rethink her choices, Mickie would've continued her journey into professional riding. However, providing a safe and quiet place for these horses quickly became her true calling.

As Mickie tends to the last of the six horses, she strolls to another stable that contains another two horses. Tranquillo, a light brown thoroughbred that could never be spooked, hence the name. Mickie purchased Tranquillo in honor of a similar thoroughbred Mickie's parents once owned. The other horse is a white stud of an American breed that is the complete opposite in personality to Tranquillo. As stubborn as he is, Mickie absolutely adores her powerful quarter horse, Blazer. Blazer got his name instantly from the moment Mickie first tried to ride him, in which his speed was so unmatched that it nearly set the fields of grass ablaze.

As usual, today Blazer was once again to stubborn to eat his bunch of carrots unless Mickie would take him on one of the trails first. And as usual, today Mickie would once again acquiesce to Blazer's demands.

After riding one of the trails, Mickie began walking Blazer back to the stables to be fed, where she spots a man trespassing on her property. _Note to self: get the fencing along the property reworked, ASAP._ As she stealthily walks closer to the man, she couldn't help but give a small chuckle as he clearly appeared to be lost. _Poor sap… I guess I shouldn't be too harsh with him._

"Hey! What are you doing here? This is private property." Mickie's country twang suddenly bellows into the air.

The man turns around to face Mickie, but doesn't say anything right away. _Again, poor sap._ Cue Blazer to let his feelings be known with a loud neigh. As the man still hasn't said anything, Mickie places a firm hand on her hip and repeats the question.

As Mickie waits for a response again, she tilts her head to properly assess the man before her. He may have tried to blend in with his polo shirt and jeans but she could smell his reek of bureaucracy a mile away. The dead giveaways being his shirt was from a designer label, his shiny watch, and the fact his "boots" were not in fact boots, but expensive, probably Italian loafers. Definitely not shoes no man in town would ever be able to afford, let alone be wearing walking along the dirt filled trails. Despite being clearly out of his element, the man sure was a looker.

Mickie's momma always warned her of a big city boy trying to sweep her off her feet and out of her clothes. The only thing the man in front of Mickie had been missing was a city boy accent...

"Sorry got lost. I'm John." The man says with an outstretched hand.

 _Yup… there's the accent. Of course he was a city boy, he looked like a damn model or athlete with all those muscles._

With her ogling, Mickie leaves John's hand hanging, which makes John bow his head in embarrasment. At this moment, Blazer snorts beside her.

"I'm Mickie. Well John, keep getting lost… just not on this property."

At this, John looks up and seems to chuckle.

 _Damn… those blue eyes and dimples._

 **No!**

Mickie couldn't get attached. Not after everything she's been through.

 _Don't get attached._

Oh, how Mickie wished she had listened. It would've spared both John and her all the pain (emotional and physical) down the road. It would've saved Mickie the hardship of seeing the man she eventually loved, right in front of her, yet so far beyond her reach.

Well, she just couldn't help herself. And John was never going to make it easier for her either. They guessed they were always supposed to end up the way they had because the simplest solution to all of this was the one thing they couldn't do in that moment: walk away.


End file.
